


Waking Up

by zeldadestry



Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't realize until after he moved to LA that she'd been hitting on him, that he could have been with her.  He didn't realize a lot of things before he got to LA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

Back when he took an art history class in college, this chick named Akiko always sat next to Eric and she was fucking gorgeous. She had long black hair and plump lips and she wore black leather pants most of the time and never any bra underneath her tight shirts so he could, everyone could, see the points of her nipples and the ring through her left one. She smiled at him every time she took her seat, and said, "see ya," after she'd put her notebook and pen in her satchel when class was finished, and he would nod and smile and then stare at her as she walked away, hypnotized by her swinging hips.

They only ever had an actual conversation once. The slide projector got stuck in the middle of the lecture and, while the students down in front tried to help their teacher fix it, she leaned over towards him and said, pointing at the painting frozen onscreen, "Succubus."

"What?"

"That's what Munch was going for. Sounds like heaven, right, a woman who comes in the night to fuck you until you die?"

"I'm not sure I'd call that heaven."

"I would," she said, winking at him. "Don't worry, you'd come to life again in the morning and get to have it happen all over again that night. Every girl's a demon, underneath. That's why I love them."

Eric swallowed. "Do you only like girls?"

"I like everything."

"Oh, ok," Eric said. "Cool." She reminded him so much of Vince in that moment. If you could have anyone, and he had no doubt that either of them could, you'd probably want to try it all, just to see, to know. "Are you superstitious?"

"No, are you?"

"Not at all. But, I mean, you don't really believe that?"

"That demons come and fuck us while we're asleep?" She laughed at him. "Of course not. I just love the metaphor."

"Yeah, the metaphor," he echoed, shifting in his seat, because he could tell she was smart and it might only be a matter of seconds before she decided he was an idiot not worth her attention.

"Check it," Akiko said. "I'll tell you another. In some cultures there's a belief in a spirit spouse. So everyone who's married has an earthly spouse, but also a heavenly spouse. So, once a week, couples sleep apart from each other so they can be visited by their spirit husband or wife. Don't you love the duality of it?"

He got it, actually, he knew what she meant. "Yeah, there's like an angel who fucks you and a devil, both."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed, resting her hand on his thigh above his knee for just a moment.

He didn't realize until after he moved to LA that she'd been hitting on him, that he could have been with her. He didn't realize a lot of things before he got to LA.

 

The first time it happens, when Eric wakes up in the middle of the night to find Vince in his bed, leaning over him, it scares the shit out of him. "What the fuck?" he says, heart thundering. "Is everything ok?"

Vince's only answer is to dip down and brush his lips across Eric's. Eric's adrenaline surges again. He wraps his arms around Vince, draws him into kiss after kiss, doesn't stop until he's sure, absolutely sure, that no one has ever been this close to him, because no one knows him like Eric does. Eric knows every twist and turn of Vince's past, knows his secrets and his fears, Eric holds Vince's heart in his hand, and he's always done it carefully, gently, he's always protected Vince. He's always taken care of Vince, they've always shared almost everything, and now it can be everything because the first thing Vince usually gives away is what he's never given Eric until now.

He wakes up in the morning so fucking hard it hurts. The bed still smells like Vince, he can smell Vince on his own body, thinks he can taste Vince when he licks his own lips and that makes it so easy to get off, come so hard, shouting "fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!"

In the shower, his face burns when he thinks back on the night, on everything he did for Vince, everything Vince did for him, because how can he go on being Vince's best friend when he wants him so much?

As it turns out, in the daytime they're the same to each other, the same as they've ever been. It's only night that makes it different, only those nights when he wakes up to find Vince beside him. It always starts before Eric can even think about it, and that's good, he can't think about it, it's completely insane, except that it doesn't feel that way when it's happening. When Vince is naked, spread underneath him, moaning, in those moments Eric lets go.

 

Tonight when Eric wakes, Vince isn't rubbing up against him, he's sitting at the end of the bed. "Hey," Eric says, crawling forward to sit beside him. "You ok?" Vince turns his face and waits, like he needs permission, and Eric gives in, leans in, so that their lips touch. Vince tastes like whiskey. "You ok?" Eric asks again, when their mouths part. Vince shrugs. "You wanna lie down? Take your shirt off and lie down." Vince does as he's told, and they lie together on top of the covers, in their boxers. Eric's on his back and Vince's head rests against his chest. Eric curves his hand around the back of Vince's neck.

They kiss for a long time that night, Vince lying on top of him, between his thighs, and it's the first time Eric can imagine wanting Vince inside him.

 

Eric's napping on the couch in the middle of the day. Pretty undignified, yeah, but he's maybe coming down with the flu or something, he's just so tired. Maybe he's worn out because he hasn't been sleeping well. Nights spent with Vince don't include much rest, but even when Eric's in bed alone lately he just lies there wondering what Vince is doing and why he's staying away. So that's how he's ended up so worn out that he's passed out on the couch and maybe he's dreaming of Vince because, when he's aware of Vince's weight above him, he smiles and accepts it like he's still in the dream, like it's still unfolding inside, in his imagination, not out in the world.

"Hey," Vince says, and Eric feels fingertips stealing up under his shirt, stroking back and forth across his belly.

Eric opens his eyes to the daylight, to his actual life. "Not here," he says, suddenly wide awake. He clutches at Vince's wrist.

Vince pulls his hand free and cups it over Eric's crotch. "How about here?"

"You know what I mean. Someone could walk in."

"The guys aren't around." Vince gives Eric's dick a friendly squeeze, then slides his hand up the side of Eric's body to stroke the back of his fingers over Eric's cheek. "You need to relax, E, you know that? I worry about you sometimes."

"What the fuck is there to worry about?" Eric snaps.

"That you'll burn yourself out."

"So what? It's not your job to take care of me."

"No, but it's your job to take care of me. What would I do without you?"

The lines are delivered with a smirk, tossed off like they don't mean a thing, but Vince's eyes are saying exactly what Eric didn't want to hear. He doesn't want to see that tenderness because he's not sure he can give Vince what he needs. He's not sure anyone can. "Seriously, get off me."

"No."

They start to wrestle. Eric keeps trying to get up and, each time Vince pins him down, he gets more annoyed. "Cut it out, asshole."

"Make me."

"You know I'm holding back, right?"

"So don't." They're side by side now, Vince pressing Eric into the back of the couch. Eric braces his feet against the arm of the couch, then grinds both his fists into Vince's gut, trying to push him off. The move works. Vince topples down and lands on the floor.

"You ok?" Eric asks, getting to his feet. Vince sits up, his face blank with shock. "What is your deal? You're acting like I punched you or something."

"Fuck you."

"Come on, that was nothing!"

Vince stands. "Fuck you," he repeats, and walks away.

Eric has absolutely no idea what to say and no idea what's going on. For one awful moment he'd thought Vince looked like he wanted to cry.

 

Vince starts bringing women home again, and Eric sleeps alone, but he doesn't care, he tells himself he shouldn't care, it's no different than it used to be. But then there is a night that month when Vince doesn't come home at all and Eric has trouble falling asleep. He can't stop wondering. Who is it? Who's with Vince tonight? Is he fucking some guy, some guy who's not hung up like Eric, who will swallow after he sucks Vince off and fuck him? Is the guy taller than Eric? Well, yeah, dumbass, he thinks, most guys are. Around four a.m. he takes a pill to knock him out. When he spots a bruise just above Vince's collarbone the next afternoon, he tastes bile at the back of his throat.

 

Don't ever get drunk with Ari again, Eric reminds himself as he pushes his latest glass of liquor away. If Ari is depressed, the apocalypse has started, so just stay out of the way. Do not, under any circumstance, take him out, and, if you do, woe to you if you let the conversation stray from business.

"What's wrong with your boy, E?" Ari says, and actually reaches his hand across the table to pat Eric's forearm. "Me and Vinny, we're a lot alike, you know that?"

"Don't flatter yourself. You're nothing like him." Eric drops Ari's marauding hand back on its own side of the table.

"No? Maybe you don't know either one of us as well as you think you do."

"Enlighten me."

"I need to win. You know that. This game, any game, is bullshit. I admit it, but I still have to win it. I triumph!" He hits the table with his fist. "I salt the earth of my fucking enemies!"

"Keep it down, ok?"

"And do you know why?" Ari says, even louder.

"Because you're an asshole?"

Now Ari drops his voice, leans in over the table and hisses at Eric. "Because I'm terrified. I'm terrified of having nothing and the only way I know to be safe from nothing is to fight, fight every minute of every fucking day, for everything, everything I can."

"Jesus, Ari, what the hell was in that sake? I didn't know you were capable of introspection."

"Hollywood is a machine, a machine made to kill looking inside." Ari jabs a thumb at his own chest. "You think I don't know that? How could I be so good at the game if I didn't know what it's all about? We train people to never look in, only look out, so that they always want more, and the only shit they want is what they can buy, right? We're the consumer engine, you and me, little man, we're part of the vast conspiracy."

"Ok, now you're freaking me out."

"You know it's true. Don't forget why Vince couldn't play both Escobar and Aquaman. If art gets made, it's only as a byproduct, never by intent."

"What is up with you?"

Ari holds up a hand, shakes his head. "Not my problems, munchkin, that's not why we're here. I was talking to you about your boy. He's not happy. I can tell he's not happy. And I don't care why, I don't care what the fucking problem is, I just want you to clean it up, ok?"

"He's fine. He's fine."

"Try it once more, maybe I'll believe you."

"I'll talk to him."

"Don't do that," Ari whines. "That won't help. Actors, it's not a job for them. They come out of the womb compulsive liars, every last one of them. So don't talk it out, just make it better."

 

"Just how rough was Vince's childhood, anyway?" Mandy asked Eric once.

"Well, you know, it wasn't always easy." Eric hoped that was vague enough. He still wonders sometimes what Vince told her to suggest a question like that. There are things from the past that Vince talks about with Eric obliquely. There are things Vince prefers not to mention at all. Eric doesn't know how to say he's sorry without bringing that old shit up, without acknowledging all the other times Vince has been hurt.

He knows that if someone filmed Vince's life, made a story out of it, the audience would probably leave thinking, hey, what a lucky guy, he's got everything he wants, right? Except that being out in LA is a game, like Ari said, and every time you think you've won it, gotten to where you want to be, boom, you find out there's another level, another place you've got to get. And it just goes on and on, this crazy chase. Chase? Holy shit, how has he never noticed that before?

Vince wanted to be someone, and he is. But it doesn't change anything that came before. It doesn't fix everything.

 

Eric wakes up from a bad dream, sweating, panting, but he can't remember what the hell scared him so much. All he knows is he has to see Vince, has to make sure he's ok. Now. It can't wait until morning. He opens the door to Vince's bedroom without knocking, without even thinking, walks halfway to the bed before he realizes what he's doing and stills. He's about to turn around when Vince stirs, opens his eyes. "E," he says, just that, like that's all there is to say, and then he lifts his hand and beckons. Eric stumbles forward like a sleepwalker, falls down on the bed next to Vince, who gathers him up in his arms.

"I had a nightmare," he says, not caring how childish he sounds.

"Aw, E," Vince says, sliding off Eric's shirt and boxers, his hands so warm against Eric's skin. "I'll protect you."

 

Eric wakes up with a start for the second time that night. He knows now what he dreamt earlier, what made him shake, because it just happened again. He dreamed Vince was dead. It's still dark but the night sounds different, it's moving towards dawn. He strokes Vince's arm. "Vin?"

Vince moves closer to him, tucks his face in at Eric's throat. "You always smell so good."

Eric breathes in the scent of Vince's hair. "Yeah, you do, too. Listen, I gotta go back to my room now."

"Why?"

Eric pauses, tightens his hold around Vince. It's madness, right, this need to be with Vince all the time, touch him whenever he wants? It can't end well. Does anything? That question suddenly strikes him as the answer. Everything ends badly. Someone told him once, a fucking fortune cookie kind of proverb, but he'd remembered it: happiness delayed is happiness denied. There's a truth in that, but it's hard for him to accept it. Hell, being Catholic means being told that delaying happiness is the only way to have it perpetually, eventually. "I just should."

"But do you want to leave?" Vince asks, and all Eric can do is shake his head. "Yeah, stay." Vince runs his thumb back and forth over the ridges of Eric's ribs. "Let's go out for breakfast tomorrow, ok, just you and me?"

"Ok." Eric takes a deep breath. "Vin?"

"Yeah?"

"Listen, I'm sorry I shoved you the other day."

"What?" Vince's body tenses.

"The other day, when we were on the couch, I'm sorry about that. You know that, right?"

"It was nothing, like you said. I already forgot about it."

Eric knows that's a lie, but he's pretty sure Vince knows he knows. He drops a kiss to the crown of Vince's head, traces his hand up and down the beads of Vince's spine. "Well, I remember, and I'm sorry." Vince closes his eyes, relaxes into the touch, and Eric is so fucking grateful.

"I missed you, E," Vince murmurs.

Eric doesn't answer, just surrenders.


End file.
